


Ode of Tony Stark

by ArabellaGaleotti (orphan_account)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Poetry, Freeform, Gen, I Dont Even Fucking Know, I dont really know what im doing, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Italian Tony Stark, Poetry, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, but read!, i think this is freestyle???, im bad at everything, tony stark poetry, you get the point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ArabellaGaleotti
Summary: A collection of poems to/from/about Tony Stark from a bunch of different perceptions and points in his life. From Afghanistan, to civil war, to his childhood.A bit fluffy, a bit angsty (okay, mostly angsty) but overall good (hopefully.)





	1. you are (so much more)

##  You are (so much more)

 

oh child,

how have you

broken 

so many 

times

but  still

get  up?

 

you are broken glass,

sharp and glittering,

dangerous,

but

beautiful.

catching light and spinning it out in a myriad of color.

 

you are barbed wire,

ready to cut, to tear 

anyone who gets

near,

like a rabid 

dog,

shackles raised

and

snarling.

 

you are fire,

_ mankind's _ greatest creation,

because you create the greatest things for mankind.

you are free to be watched, 

but try to betray you, 

try to bottle you,

to snuffle you,

and you will 

burn

those who 

try.

 

you are a man

and you fly

and you fight

and you love,

but flying and fighting and loving 

can  _ hurt _ ,

and no amount of suits can stop 

that.

 

fin.


	2. Genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist?

##  Genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist?

  
  


the Genius

with hands that cannot

still

and a brain that does not

rest.

hands that are 

scarred by  

creation,

like God’s 

himself.

 

 

the Playboy

with a mouth that tastes like

whiskey and lipstick

and eyes that 

burn

with the effort

of trying to

forget. 

 

 

the Billionaire

with money to 

burn 

and people that 

hate 

him for it. 

 

“you can’t 

afford 

me,”

he says, but what he means is,

“i will not be 

_ bought _ .”

 

 

the Philanthropist

holding champagne at galas,

tucking fat checks into the pockets of those that are better than him

wearing his best suit and a smirk to go along with it.

he is a terrible

parody 

of his mother.

he pretends he is wiping out the 

red,

he is merely 

hiding 

it.

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i kinda wanna get into reading poetry, so if you have any recommendations for poems/writers, they would be appreciated!
> 
> srry this is short
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	3. These hands that pray.

##  These hands that pray.

  
  


Death,

is the only

deity

he believes in.

 

Death, 

with her hands that take and give all in one.

 

the first time he

prayed,

he was twenty one years old,

and crying and laughing

all at once

because

she had taken, but given so much more

 

the second time he prayed

he was

tired and beaten and 

bloody

and this time he was 

angry

because she let 

_ him _

live

(don't waste it.)

  
  


the third time,

it was holding a chlorophyll smoothie

and just

tired.

this time he made no grand illusions

he just sighed

and whispered

to an empty room. 

asking if it would end 

soon.

she stayed silent, 

and he took a deep swig of the bottle,

he won’t deny he wished it was whiskey.

 

The fourth,

it was madly,

screaming at the sky

begging, 

pleading 

to know

why he survived it,

again,

an impossible trip,

a deathtrap. 

why she wouldn't tell him,

why she wouldn't speak,

why she was being so  ~~ cruel  ~~ kind.

(we won.)

  
  


the next time, 

he was surrounded by white,

dipped in it,

sheets, floors, curtains, nurse’s uniforms

he feels colorless 

and 

lost.

he feels

broken.

 

he knows that she will not answer.

he has learnt his lesson.

but still, he bows his head and cups his hands in a false symbol of 

salvation 

and asks if it would have better to 

die 

in that bunker,

to have red (blood) and white (snow) and blue (his eyes) be the last thing he saw.

 

she, for the first time, whispers back,

_ yes. _

and he closes his eyes and sobs.

 

the sixth, 

is to a battlefield, where

innocents

have died.

this time it is not a whisper. 

it is a scream,

a yell,

_ demanding _ reasons, 

demanding answers,

demanding  _ something. _

she does not answer,

and he is

left with a robot staring at him strangely

and the ashes of his only 

~~ child ~~ mentee 

staining his hand 

like 

blood. 

 

on the seventh time,

it is like greeting an old lover,

softly,

quietly,

and with 

understanding.

he sits cross-legged in front of a window that shows his nightmares, but he is not afraid.

there is an ache in his chest and he closes his eyes,

finally, he whispers, 

_ thank you. _

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yess i know a long one but a weird one!
> 
> i think its kinda a cool 'merchant of death' idea that could be fleshed out into a real fic, so if anyone wants, they totally can, just credit me ;)


	5. this is his childhood.

##  this is his childhood. 

 

empty house,

lonely house,

 

dead flowers on the coffee table

he watches them

wilt.

 

his mother isn't here

and his father

doesn't

care.

 

jarvis tries to 

hide it,

the fact that his parents 

don't 

love

him. 

he’s a bad liar.

 

the gardens are cold,

but they are pretty,

roses in splendid shades,

blooming brightly,

spots of color in a 

black-and white

life picture. 

he reaches out a hand

and 

bleeds. 

 

he gives life with his fingers, 

it’s easy, really. 

he hardly needs to think about it,

but his father 

(for once)

is amazed. 

 

and after, when the photographers 

have gone away and so have his 

parents,

he sits on his bed and wonders 

if this is what life is like.

 

this 

is 

his 

childhood.

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i dont know whats going on with this. i wanted to do some kinky kinda childhood angst thing. 
> 
> oh by the way with the whole 'giving life' thing, its his first circuit board when he was 4.
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	6. Welcome, to my life.

##  Welcome, to my life. 

 

the funeral 

feels like a 

graduation party.

 

i wear my name 

like a 

burden 

and a 

gift. 

it is both.

 

i am the new 

leader, 

they tell me, 

i will change the 

world, 

they tell me. 

why couldn't i have done that before? 

 

I have a shiny new office 

with doe-eyed PAs and office girls that wink 

coquettishly. 

They never 

used to do that. 

 

i sit on a throne made of 

blood and money 

and american freedom. 

it is not as comfortable as people think. 

 

there is a 

crown 

on my head, but 

it burns.

 

the keys

to the kingdom 

are in my hands, 

but they are 

heavy.

 

_ (i _

_ don’t  _

_ want  _

_ it.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like this one. i think there must have been a bit of...conflict with tony, being shoved into the CEO role so soon, so young and i think it did an okay job at showin' all that, too.
> 
> hope you thinks so as well!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	7. this way it doesn't hurt so much

##  This way it doesn't hurt so much.

  
  


Their funeral was on a sunday. 

They died on a thursday. 

He was anthony 

before.

now he is tony.

 

This way,

it doesn’t 

hurt so much.

 

he sits at the graveyard

for the service 

but 

does not stay afterwards. 

 

this way, it doesn't hurt so much

 

he does not visit italy. 

not once, not ever.

he sends others,

but he does not set foot

on italian province. 

 

this way, it doesn't hurt so much

 

he wonders,

a few years later,

what went wrong. 

he still sits in his lab

or dances at whatever club,

but he

wonders. 

 

there is no answer. 

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, another short one! i wanted to highlight tony being so young and how he probably closed himself off.
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	8. CREATOR

##  CREATOR

 

there is the spark of creation in his eyes, 

in his mind.

every time he blinks,

fantastical inventions make 

themselves, 

printed on the back of his eyelids. 

 

he gets inspired,

and it is

fire.

leaping from his brain to his hands, 

jumping like a spark 

to set his work alight

 

he must work, 

he must understand, 

he must fix.

 

electricity calls to him 

as air is breathed. 

he used to think that he didn't have 

blood, 

just motor oil in place,

that his fingers were conductors

and his veins wires, sparking everytime he makes.

  
  


fin. 


	9. grey scars of smoke

##  Grey scars of smoke

 

sometimes when I’m driving, 

i pray,

for the car to skid, 

to crash, 

to go barrelling down a cliff and 

explode in a massive

ball of fire. 

 

But what I want more is the grey scars

of smoke, 

across an achingly blue sky. 

that way,

people can point and stare, 

whisper in fake-sad voices: 

_ he was so young.  _

_ he had so much potential.  _

_ he had a life ahead of him.  _

 

the cynical part of me would laugh and laugh, even as the dirt lands on top of my coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is taken from my old deleted work, because i couldn't bear to let it go. i'll probs use the work when im so tired i cant feel my face (like now.)
> 
> thanks!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	10. I don't know who i am.

## I don't know who I am.

 

i don't know who i am.

 

am i the scared child?

the one afraid of breath that smells like whiskey

and disappointing someone who never

loved him?

 

am i the rebellious teenager?

with covered-up bruises, 

dead eyes and a timer

inside my head, counting down til i'm eighteen.

 

am i the prodigal son?

am i the man who stands in front of his

parents caskets,

the weight

of the people

pressing

on his shoulders?

 

am i the playboy?

leering drunkenly, falling into bed with whoever smiles at me first,

fucking to keep the thoughts

away

(anything is better than the thoughts, going around and around and _around_ )

 

am i the shattered man in a cave?

the one who came tony stark,

left, something else,

something broken,

but something

incredibly _whole_.

 

am i iron-man?

the suit of armour,

gleaming,

shining,

a showman just a much

as it’s master.

 

am i all of them?

am i twisted mix, a parody of normal,

a cosmic joke?

 

or am i nothing at all?

is what i could have been rotting inside me,

shrivelled up and dead,

am i an empty shell of potential and lost innocence?

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda weird and i think i could probably do it better, but anyways i like it.
> 
> thanks!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	11. living spreadsheet

##  Living spreadsheet. 

 

his hands are a living spreadsheet, 

everything he’s ever made,

tallied across his knuckles, 

written on his palm.

 

people think it’s ugly,

he thinks it is beautiful. 

 

here he has, 

his children,

his creations,

his very life,

tattooed on him in blood and stinging pain,

and that's the most poetic thing he can think of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	12. kintsugi

##  kintsugi

in japan, 

when a bowl breaks, 

they fix it in gold,

in sliver,

in shining wealth. 

 

cracks melded together in molten-metal, 

halves healed. 

 

he wishes they did that with humans, 

but then, 

he wouldn't have much 

flesh left. 

 

then, he’d  _ truly _ be iron-man

 

and isn't that funny?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually my fav. 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	13. salvation

## Salvation

 

my salvation was my destruction,

a bomb in the sand. 

a hand in his chest. 

screaming.

hurt.

fire.

 _hurt_.

words in a language he does not know  

_HURT._

_I wouldn't do that, if i were you._

 

my salvation was my resurrection,

reborn in a suit of iron forged in terror and blood

and loyalty.

christened in fire and screams and the death of a man

that should have survived.

he rose

after three months,

not days.

 

my salvation was my breaking,

his feet ache,

and it's _so hot_

the sand dunes continue before him like an endless ocean

of golden deception.

its almost beautiful.

 

my salvation was my making,

THE TRUTH IS, (I think i broke in that cave, and i don't think i got all the pieces —) I AM IRON-MAN.

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but fuck i really like this.


	14. I hate myself

## I hate myself

 

tony stark is 16 and a half, and he hates himself.

 

it’s tangible,

lying just under the surface of his skin

like a bag full of rocks.

like the heavy, crushing weight of grief

(he knows that feeling all too well)

 

but it's _hot_ ,

sizzling,

burning

with every movement,

breath,

thought.

 

he hates his gawky limbs that he doesn't have control over yet.

he hates his face. It looks too much like

howard’s.

he wishes he could rip

the man from his DNA,

tear

off the pieces of him that are

his  

(but then there wouldn't be much left.)

  


He hates his brain, his mouth, his _need_ to reply to every jab and jest.

(because if he doesn't, he’s weak. He's lost.)

it’s gotten more black eyes and

bruised ribs

than he can count.

(most from his father.)

 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, stolen from my deleted work. 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	15. ive always been lonely

##  I've always been lonely

 

“i’ve always been lonely,” he tells rhodey, one day in their dorm.

rhodey asks “how?” 

and tony only laughs. 

 

he was born into broken bottles and yelling,

a mother with sad eyes and a father with angry ones. 

he was born 

into the cold arms of 

isolation 

and he never really left it’s embrace.

 

even surrounded by people, 

in a party,

or a charity gala that his mother makes him go to,

he is alone. 

 

it is the default setting, by now.

he is used to it,

and somehow it doesn't feel sad. 

just familiar. 

 

then pepper and rhodey and  ~~ obie ~~ the avengers.

and, 

somehow,

he stopped feeling like that.

 

he didn't notice, at first. it was gradual. 

but when he did and the cold vice around his core was gone. 

he tipped back his drink and laughed some more. 

 

oh, freedom has never tasted so sweet.

 

fin.


	16. Butterfly fly away

##  Butterfly fly away

 

cocooned like a butterfly,

wrapped in hot sand and the words 'STARK INDUSTRIES' rather than silk,

made in blood, and released in it too.

you changed, you formed, you became something better. 

 

iron-man was made in a cold, dark place, fused with pain,

and iron-man broke in one too. 

 

tony stark went in, 

and tony stark came out,

but changed. 

 

he was better, 

he was stronger, 

he replaced his old, caterpillar family, 

with a flock of butterflies,

shiny and new and all with different wings,

 

and so, 

tony stark flew away

 

fin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha yeah you know how i said they would be longer chapters? i lied. but, no matter the length, i like this one. i'm team iron man (obviously) so thats why he leaves his old caterpillar family in lieu of a flock of the New Avengers
> 
> tell me what team you are?
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	17. Afghanistan dreams

##  Afghanistan dreams. 

 

he closes his eyes and sees hot, 

hot burning sand, 

and blood drying and crusty on his 

hands, 

 

he sees yinsen, eyes glassy and soul

vacated.

  
  


he closes his eyes and he does not dream peaceful dreams,

  
  


he dreams of yelling in a language he does not know, 

for once, 

totally powerless.

 

he dreams of

hands in his chest, 

knives and surgical equipment.

car batteries and water choking him, filling his mouth, his throat. 

humvee and a soldier who looks  _ so fucking happy _ to see  _ him _

that he actually feels something.

a man with a razor, and his chest wrapped in bandages. 

a board game and a hot coal held above a tongue

 

he wakes in a cold sweat

yinsen smiles at him. 

  
  


fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know another short one...sorry? i dont wanna make excuses but im so fucking tired. there will be longer ones in future, promise!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	18. blood begets blood

##  Blood begets blood

when he's broken like he's only broken once before, 

he stands on the roof and, 

screams at the 

sky.

he wonders if it’s a dream,

that he really did die in that cave

it would be fair,

for all the blood he’s caused 

to be sent back on him,

honestly,

he doesn't blame whatever cruel fates. 

just himself.


	19. A holy life (it's a million miles away, now)

 

##  A holy life (it's a million miles away, now)

his mother used to take him to church. 

he remembers snapshots of it,

the feel of her skirts against his arm, 

the low hum of chatter before the service starts,

how dust motes got caught on the golden rays 

of sunlight 

streaming in 

from the windows where angels and saints 

stare, 

judging, 

watching, 

waiting. 

he was not religious, even then, but he loved it 

still, 

the very idea of forgiveness on such a cardinal level. 

now he just stares at the doors and laughs,

there is no salvation for him. 

 

not for men like him, who sin with every breath, 

it would take a thousand more crosses for it to be 

absolved.

not for killers who have killed as many as him. 

not for the man who knows he is bad but does not care, still lifts the drink to his lips and the women to his body. 

did those saints and angels know?

did they see it it his soul, even as a child, what he would become?

is that why they stared so heavily, watched so intently, because they were  judging his future sins?

he hopes so, that would give him a better reason to hate them. 


	20. Mother.

##  Mother. 

she is a memory, 

driven to madness,

by the very man who loved her. 

she is a photograph, old and faded,

and now,

she burns,

corners curling, sooty and blackened with smoke.

the woman she was is broken,

and there's no fixing a burnt photograph.


	21. love (no more)

##  Love (no more)

his name is anthony edward stark,

and he might just love someone.

 

he takes him to his house and kisses him in his room, 

and after, when they are boneless and happy on his bed, he hears footsteps. 

 

his father is angry. 

 

the boy he loves leaves. 

 

that day, anthony learns what true pain feels like. 

that day, he becomes tony, 

and he doesn't love anymore.

 

he loves in an objective turn, if what he does could be called love.

  
  


he doesn't think it can. 


	22. come see the show

##  Come see the show

you're a circus performer;

an act,

and boy,

do people come from all over the world to see you

fall.

 

but you always have a trick

up your sleeve,

and still,

the crowds come,

because there is no act more suspenseful than tony stark,

 

dark and grinning, masks piled up and soldered on, 

war paint and clown paint,

and the costumes —

_ oh _ , the costumes, 

suits and skin,

a hoodie, sweats,

a diamond smile, 

gleaming armour, red and gold.

 

you can don an outfit for any occasion, 

whatever the people want you to be,

you are.

 

there is no performance better done than tony stark’s, because people don't even know it's a performance. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey, hope you enjoyed that. i dont really know what im doing, i think this is freestyle???
> 
> i will continue this and i already have a BUNCH of them written up.
> 
> thanks for reading :)
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


End file.
